Blooming buttercups flash-frozen,

In the belly of a mammoth beast.

A coronal mass ejection licks the sky.

All systems fry.

Stop. No traffic lights. Starvation nation.

No medication.

“We weren’t expecting this.”

An incy-wincy megadensy black-hole,

Sucks existence away.

Then there is that,

That:

That of which we cannot say.

At any moment a little meteor strike,

Like that man in Bangalore,

May melt me back down,

To prime star-dust,

Ready for some more.

Or bigger yet a crater-maker

An axis-shaker.

Happened before, going to happen again.

The bus may skid.

The plane may explode.

Hyperbaric fireball.

The End of my road;

“Could happen, maybe”.

The world just goes crazy.

Is this a dagger or an empty hand?

An impact so big it shatters sand.

A polar-reversal that flips the sea.

Buttercup Buttercup allergy.